


And the sun pours down like honey

by SylphOfLight



Series: colours [1]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Elsa rediscovering her culture, F/F, Northuldra (Disney), POV Elsa (Disney), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylphOfLight/pseuds/SylphOfLight
Summary: brown/braʊn/adjective1. of a colour produced by mixing red, yellow, and blue, as of dark wood, rich soil, reindeer fur, or Honeymaren's eyes.Seven vignettes of Elsa building her home in the Enchanted Forest, in the Northuldra, in Honeymaren.
Relationships: Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Series: colours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792060
Comments: 61
Kudos: 111





	1. earth

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my beta reader and dear friend, [sequestering](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequestering). check her fics out, they're absolutely incredible.

It’s been a few weeks since Elsa abdicated and claimed the Enchanted Forest as her new home, and she still can’t get over how beautiful it all is. Her heart aches as she walks through the woods, overcome by a feeling of both belonging and awe. Arendelle was, and is, undeniably wonderful, it’s where she grew up, of course she still loves it, but the sense of belonging she feels in the forest is practically tangible. Magic permeates the air, saturates her bones, fills her lungs with every breath. A fish in water, a raven in the skies, a wolf in its pack. She will always be thankful for her people and her kingdom but it’s undeniably freeing not having to deal with Lords and Dukes and Earls, and the complicated, exhausting dance of social cues that she would inevitably misread or miss completely. The forest is large enough that she can be alone if she so chooses, but its paths are slowly becoming familiar enough that if she gets too lonely, her feet can take her to other people. Even when there are no other people around, the forest still teems with life: small critters scurrying in the undergrowth, cawing birds, swooping and squawking.

The branches above her rustle and chirp in a greeting.

“Hello Gale,” Elsa says warmly. She bends down to grab a fistful of fallen birch leaves, and throws them in the direction of the wind spirit, who swirls them round, making them dance in the air.

The breeze then curls around her, ruffling her hair playfully.

“I haven’t finished the letter to Anna yet,” she says, almost apologetically. “It’s nice to see you though. If you visit Arendelle, say hello to everyone from me.” Elsa smiles before the wind spirit whirls off in a leafy flurry. Apart from herself, Gale is the only other spirit who regularly visits Arendelle, usually to play with Olaf in the cobbled streets. As Elsa waves goodbye, she catches a glimpse of the dirt under her nails.

She stares. Her nails are dirty. There are specks of brown earth, made all the darker against the background of her pale fingers. From years of clean castle walls, dedicated maids and tailored gloves, to brilliant white snow and ice and magic flowing from her fingertips, she’s never seen herself with dirty nails before. She stares. The dirt must have gotten caught under there when she grabbed the leaves from the forest floor.

Elsa goes to carry out her usual rounds of the forest, summoning the Nokk to join her, making no effort to clean her hands off. She will eventually, of course, but for now, she rides with dirty nails gripped in the water spirit’s mane. Every part of that sentence would have seemed ridiculous to her a year ago.

Their ride together is a standard part of Elsa’s routine but, as with most things of the Enchanted Forest, it still seems exhilarating to her, leaving her breathless, heart pounding as the Nokk gallops through familiar woodland. This is where she’s meant to be, she knows that, feels it deep in her bones. They go visit the Earth Giants, most of whom are still fast asleep, causing the pebbles near them to rattle with their snores. One of the smaller giants stirs and yawns at the sound of the Nokk’s hoofbeats, giving a lazy wave to Elsa before falling back asleep. They race across its outstretched arm, acting as a bridge over the river, and keep going and going.

As she gallops through the forest, she can feel the bite of an icy chill in the air; winter is approaching soon. Not an artificial winter brought on by a terrified monarch with a magic she feels she can’t control but simply the natural cycle of the seasons; red and orange leaves giving way to bare branches. When she was young, she had been grateful for winter. It gave her a chance to pretend that the frost covering the doorframes were simply due to a window being left open, rather than because of her weakness. Her gloves wouldn’t be questioned, the chill in her room would be written off, even her withdrawn demeanour could be explained as possibly not getting enough sun, rather than the actual reason of a little girl, folding in on herself out of fear. She’s grown a lot since being that little girl, and is simply excited to see what the season holds in store. She’ll miss the vibrant colour of the autumn leaves, though. She’ll see them again next year, she thinks to herself. She knows without a shadow of a doubt that she will still be here in the Enchanted Forest next year, ready to watch the autumn leaves fall once again.


	2. bark

Elsa approaches the Northuldran Encampment slowly, path illuminated by the glow of the moon. Yelena invited her this morning, telling her about this important Northuldran custom that Elsa should come to.

“You are one of us, after all.”

Elsa remains infinitely grateful to the welcoming arms that she has been met with since living in the Enchanted Forest. She was not raised in the forest. Her accent is distinctively royal and more distinctively Arendellian. She does not even look Northuldran with her fair, pink skin. Nevertheless, the Northuldra have all made sure she knows these two facts: these are her people; this is her culture.

She’s late, lost track of time on a ride with the Nokk, visiting the Earth Giants. When she reaches the camp, there’s already a large group gathered round the campfire as Honeymaren sings, soft and low and evocative. Elsa peers out from behind a tree, hand resting on the rough bark, tentative to move; she feels intrusive watching them from afar but simultaneously doesn’t want to interrupt. Some of the people watch Honeymaren, some look off into the distance, some simply breath in time with the song. All of them are bathed in the orange firelight, glowing and warm and radiant. They look like stars given human form; they look like people of the sun. Honeymaren sits next to her brother with her eyes closed, eyelashes casting shadows onto her cheeks, her song flowing from her like forest rivers into seas into Arendellian ports. Her words hang in the air and bleed colour into the space around them. Elsa can feel herself committing this moment to memory.

As Honeymaren sings the last few notes of her song, Ryder spots Elsa hiding by the trees, grins, and waves her over. Elsa smiles gratefully back and takes a seat next to Honeymaren when she finishes, and leans in to whisper a compliment.

“Your song was lovely.”

Honeymaren smiles. “I’m glad you were around to hear it.”

There are a few minutes of hushed conversations, murmuring no louder than the logs in the fire hissing and breaking, before Ryder begins his song. Elsa isn’t sure if there is an established order or if it’s a more spontaneous situation.

As soon as he starts singing, the image of reindeer, freely galloping under a clear sky for the first time, appears so vividly in Elsa’s mind that it takes her breath away. She can hear the thud of hooves against the ground, see their heads occasionally tossing upwards to gaze at the wide expanse of blue above them. She’s unsure if Gale is manipulating the wind again, but as Elsa watches the smoke rising from the fire, she can swear she sees shapes of deer: an antler here, a hoofprint there. His song lacks the narrative that Arendellian lyrics seem to require; instead, he paints a moment of time with phenomenal clarity.

He doesn’t sing for long, unfortunately, and after one last sustained note, the image fades from Elsa’s mind as quickly as it came. Again, there is a brief interlude, where people idly chit-chat with those next to them about their days or about the songs.

Yelena stands. What quiet conversations there were die down immediately; everyone is silent, all eyes are on her. She takes a breath and begins her song.

As she sings, fragments of a story, tableaux of moments form in Elsa’s mind. A curious girl with a playful smile, a sweet boy with a love for his kingdom. Betrayal. A terrible curse. The Northuldra, tending to their wounded, burying their dead. The Northuldra, mourning a lost child. The Northuldra, mourning the forest.

Elsa is silent, unable to look away from Yelena and the story she sings. When the song is finally finished, Elsa stands to leave the campfire. Honeymaren turns, ready to follow her, but Elsa gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head, before walking away. She needs a moment to be alone.

She finds a spot near enough to the camp that she can still hear a faint melody being sung but far enough away that they will not be able to hear her. She bends her head down into her arms and thinks of her parents; just as her mother was never able to return to her Northuldran family, Elsa’s parents will never be able to return to her. She starts to sob, rough and choking, shoulders trembling. She has already mourned them countless times but she knows that she will mourn them countless times more.

She will sometimes look back at the sad, lonely girl her childhood made her and feel angry towards her father for isolating her, angry at her mother for saying nothing. Adults seemed to have all the answers back then. They should have known better. They should have done better than locking a scared little girl up. Regret will occasionally lodge itself in her throat and make it impossible to swallow; if she had been on the ship with them, maybe she could have frozen the wave. Maybe she could have kept them afloat. Just like every time she cries about parents, she remembers that maybes never make her feel any better. Gratitude will cause her chest to tighten, pride will grips her heart like a vice when she considers the compassion her mother showed to an innocent boy, their journey to Ahtohallan, to understand her magic. Her grief is a messy, ugly tangle of emotions, fear and rage and gratitude. And sadness. Always sadness.

I miss you, she thinks. I miss you, I need you here, please come back to me. Please mama, please papa. Growing up has been so hard without you. You said you’d be back in two weeks. You have to return, you promised. Please, please, please.

And just like every time before, her cries go unheard. Despite her begging, she remains alone, crying under a cold, apathetic moon.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed when her sobs finally subside. She feels hollow, like all the tears and water and ice in her body have been wrung out, leaving her brittle. Looking up at the stars, hanging low and serene in the night sky, she can still hear the campfire crackle and faint voices sing behind her. There’s the sound of someone’s footsteps crunching on frost, approaching her, but she simply leans her head back to rest against the rough bark of the tree she sits behind, too drained to turn to acknowledge them.

“I apologise if I caused you any upset,” the voice says sombrely. It’s Yelena.

With a deep breath, Elsa composes herself, gathers the few remnants of energy she can manage. Rubbing away any remaining tear stains, cool hands soothing to her flushed cheeks and puffy eyes, she stands and turns to face her. Yelena’s dark eyes have lost their usual stern glare and instead, she wears a neutral expression, devoid of judgement or pity. Elsa notices that they’re both standing on a significant layer of frost, inadvertently caused by her anguish.

“No, no. It wasn’t your fault. I was simply reminded of my parents, that’s all. I – I –”

Elsa stammers, feeling tears well up in her eyes again. She thought she had nothing left inside her, and yet. “I miss them terribly.” She scrubs at her eyes, willing the tears which fall from her eyes to evaporate into an icy mist.

Yelena’s expression is compassionate but she does not hold Elsa’s hands, or cup her cheeks, or move in to hug her. She simply rests her hand, broad and steady, on Elsa’s shoulder for a moment, before dropping it back to her side.

“You have suffered so much for someone so young,” Yelena says. “Dealing with the holes that people leave in our lives seems impossible at times, that much I can understand from experience. We may never truly understand the specific pain you are burdened with, but we will all be here, patient and listening, when you finally feel ready to sing your story.”

Elsa doesn’t reply, she doesn’t trust her voice not to wobble and crack, but gives a shaky nod in thanks.

“Do you wish to be alone?”

Elsa doesn’t move or respond. She isn’t sure.

“Very well.” Yelena touches her shoulder again, before heading back to the camp. Elsa listens to her leave and realising her answer to Yelena’s question, stands and follows the icy footprints back to the camp.

“Can I sing?” Elsa asks, unprompted, when they’re both back round the campfire, seated in their original places. She pauses for a second and realises something. “But I don’t know any songs that you haven’t already heard.”

“That’s alright,” Honeymaren says from beside her, reassuringly. “Sing something familiar.” She notices Elsa’s hand trembling, and holds it gently. Her hands are so warm from being by the fireside.

Elsa closes her eyes and steadies her racing pulse by focusing on Honeymaren’s touch. She imagines herself, bathed in orange light like everyone else. She thinks of her family and of familiar lullabies and of her beautiful, deadly Ahtohallan, and takes a breath.

“Where the north wind meets the sea…”


	3. fur

She’s out for a ride with the Nokk, the two pausing on a cliff edge to admire the view when she spots Kristoff and Sven, who is in a relaxed trot, pulling a wagon behind him. They’re currently on the outskirts of the forest, on their way to the Northuldran Encampment. She remembers Anna mentioning his visit; he’s staying for a few days with the Northuldra.

Officially, he’s here as a royal, reaffirming Arendellian-Northuldran ties. Unofficially, he’s here as a friend, to hang out with Ryder and let Sven hang out with other reindeer. Most importantly, he’s here to spend some time away from noise and busyness of Arendelle. Anna’s explained in previous letters that royal Arendellian duties can sometimes overwhelm him and it helps to get away from it all for a while. Elsa can relate.

Elsa watches as Kristoff and Sven for a moment, before giving an affectionate pat to the water spirit’s neck.

“Shall we go meet them?” she asks, climbing effortlessly onto its back.

The Nokk snorts and tosses its head, icy mane glittering in the light, before setting off.

The relentless gallop which the Nokk is so fond of means that Elsa arrives at the Northuldran Encampment a while before Kristoff and Sven, giving her a chance to stretch out her hips and legs. Riding the Nokk, as exhilarating and freeing as it is, will often leave her muscles sore if she doesn’t stretch out her body afterwards. Beyond the standard equestrian lessons her father encouraged both her and Anna to take, she had never cared much for horse riding in her childhood, resulting in a body painfully unsuited to going on long, saddleless gallops with horse-shaped water spirits. Her magic helps, she thinks, the Nokk’s body subtly shifting while it runs to accommodate its rider, but nothing can be done about the soreness in her thighs from gripping the water spirit’s wide back. Nothing apart from stretching.

“Elsa!” Kristoff envelops her in a warm hug when he reaches the camp, which she returns with equal affection.

She had been wary of Kristoff at first, most likely due to all the attempted murder by a previous object of Anna’s affection, and had spent a lot of time in his company in awkward silence, unwilling to make the effort to like him, waiting for him to slip up. He never did, and as time passed, his steadfast devotion to Anna seemed less and less likely to be a ruse, and more and more likely to be pure and honest love. His relentless attempts to befriend her eventually won out and now she loves him as she would a brother; he is part of her family.

Sven and Kristoff are staring curiously at The Nokk with identical expressions. She wonders amusedly whether Sven is capable of doing an uncanny impression of a human face, or vice versa, whether Kristoff has reindeer-like facial muscles, before realising the two have never actually met the water spirit standing behind her, and quickly introduces them.

“Sven, Kristoff, meet the Enchanted Forest’s resident water spirit, the Nokk.” It shakes its frosty mane in greeting.

Sven steps forward and gives a friendly huff in the horse’s direction, along with a little nod, while Kristoff gives a friendly nod, along with a subconscious huff of air. Uncannily similar, thinks Elsa, with a smile. After introductions are made, she walks the Nokk over to the nearest stream and gives it a light kiss on the nose, watching its body turn back to water and allowing itself to get washed away by the stream.

By the time she’s rejoined with Kristoff, Ryder has already found him and the two are chatting animatedly. Sven, similarly, is off socialising and talking with the other reindeer in Ryder’s herd. She joins the two men for a while, listening to them catch up and occasionally chipping in but mostly happy to let them talk. She walks off to say hello to Sven, giving him an affectionate scratch under the chin.

Ryder calls out to her. “Elsa, we’re about to head off for a ride, we need to move some of the herd to a different part of the forest. Want to come?”

She hesitates. She’s already gone for her daily ride with the Nokk, so summoning it once again wouldn’t really be fair on the water spirit, and she’s not too keen on reindeer riding.

“Honeymaren’s coming too,” Ryder adds.

Well, that changes things. How bad could riding reindeer be?

Riding reindeer is the worst.

She swears that neither her childhood horse rides nor her gallops with the Nokk jostle her around as much, it’s surprisingly hard to maintain a grip on the thick fur in front of her, and the large antlers keep almost grazing her head. She’s sure the reindeer she’s currently sat on is lovely but the general experience is quickly wearing on her patience. Ryder and Kristoff are way ahead, riding on what Elsa guessing are the two strongest deer in the herd. Sven is still at the Northuldran Encampment, relaxing after the long journey to the Enchanted Forest with plenty of leaves and mushrooms to snack on while he waits for his human friends to return.

Elsa is currently riding a young reindeer named Matilda, as Ryder had explained when assigning deer. Matilda is beautiful, energetic, and impatient. She has a tendency to surge forward in fits of restlessness, which then requires Elsa to pull her back, not wanting to attempt anything faster than a walk. Honeymaren easily, amusedly, keeps pace with them.

“Having fun on Matilda?” she asks innocently.

Elsa pulls a face attempting to be a grin that ends up more like a grimace. Honeymaren laughs at her expression.

“If you want, we can bring up the rear. They’ll mainly be older deer, so we’ll comfortably be at walking pace. Otto here won’t mind the slow pace, he’s a lazybones,” she says affectionately, burying her hands in his thick neck fur and giving him a scratch.

“That sounds good. Thank you Matilda,” Elsa says, as she slides off her back, allowing the deer to merrily trot off.

The two women wait around for a while in comfortable silence as the remaining deer walk past them, before dutifully keeping pace with the very last reindeer in the particular group they’re herding. Honeymaren remains seated on Otto while Elsa walks beside her.

“What do you think those two are talking about?” Honeymaren asks, nodding her head ahead of her, at Kristoff and Ryder.

Elsa shrugs. “Reindeer stuff?”

“Of course! Ryder’s been obsessed with reindeer ever since he was small.”

“Are you not obsessed with them as well?”

“I’m a member of the Northuldra, of course I love them. But I think I’m more interested in the stories about the magic of the forest than anything else.”

Elsa considers asking her a question, playing with the wording in her mind for a moment to ensure the tone comes out right.

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve never really understood the connection you all have with your reindeer. The lives of Arendellian fishermen don’t centre around the salmon they catch. The butcher isn’t best friends with sheep,” Elsa says. She pauses for a moment. “It almost seems like everything about the Northuldra revolve around reindeer. Which isn’t a bad thing! I just don’t understand it.”

Honeymaren purses her lips, stroking Otto’s fur absentmindedly. When she finally replies, she speaks slowly.

“We use reindeer for transport, their milk and meat to nourish us, their hides and fur to make clothing, their antlers for tools. You grow up with them, playing with the calves as children, herding them as adults. They’re more than just our livelihoods, it’s more like our entire lives are intertwined with the deer. I’m not sure who the Northuldra would be without our reindeer. We provide for them; they provide for us.”

She speaks like she’s never had to explain this before, but the words roll off her tongue like she has always known the answer deep in her mind. Elsa hums thoughtfully in response and mulls over Honeymaren’s words.

The two women spend the rest of the walk in comfortable silence, listening to the _click-click-click_ of feet and the slow deep breaths of the reindeer walking around them. Elsa, without thinking, finds her footsteps falling in sync with Otto, steady and sure.


	4. hair

“Do all Arendellians have such beautiful hair?”

Elsa smiles at the question. She’s currently sitting on the edge of a riverbank, toes dipping in and out of the water. Honeymaren is sat behind her, playing with Elsa’s hair and experimenting with different styles of platinum blonde plaits.

“You’re sweet.” Elsa resists the urge to turn around, the habit of keeping her head still has been ingrained into her through many braiding sessions with Anna. “Unless that was a genuine question, then I think my particular colour is because of spirit magic, since my mother had hair like yours and my father’s was a little lighter than Anna’s.”

“It was meant as both a compliment and a question. Your sister’s hair is also lovely. Such a vivid red!”

Elsa hums in agreement. In her teenage poetry, she would often describe Anna as the fire to her ice, bright and bold and summery. There had been plenty of other metaphors she had written down in her private journals comparing the two of them in a desperate attempt to connect to Anna, when the idea of talking to her had seemed an impossible task, but even now she still likes that particular analogy. Simple yet apt, from their hair to their birthdays to their personalities.

“I can pass on the compliment in my next letter, if you want.” Elsa is being genuine. Anna loves to receive compliments.

“Don’t you dare,” Honeymaren warns, fingers still rearranging strands of Elsa’s hair. “I already feel awkward enough stealing her sister away from her without you making it worse.”

“You stole me away?” Elsa’s smirk is practically audible.

“Oh! I – I mean, I was, uh, joking – and I meant the Northuldra in general. Not me. In particular. Although I was the one who asked you to stay. But that was, uh, more about the Fifth Spirit and the Enchanted Forest than uh. Is this how you feel when I tease you?”

“I think I blush more and talk less, but yes.”

Honeymaren rolls her eyes affectionately. “So self-aware.”

“You tease me often enough that I’ve familiarised myself with the feeling.”

“I don’t tease you that often,” Honeymaren says. She pauses. “Anyway, you’re so cute when I do.”

Elsa blushes. “Case in point.”

“You got me. Anyway, what I was trying to say was that I’m just so used to seeing dark hair all the time. When I was younger, I always wished I could change my hair to a more exciting colour.”

“What colour would you have wanted?” Elsa asks, amusedly picturing a proud young Honeymaren with multicoloured hair and a beaming smile.

“I forget. It changed every few weeks. I remember wanting a pair of antlers for like, half a year though.”

“Like a reindeer?” Elsa tries to look over her shoulder, to picture Honeymaren with antlers, but gentle tug on her hair reminds her to keep her head facing forwards.

“Exactly like a reindeer! Ryder actually wanted to be a deer at one point when he was younger, I think. We used to playfight with broken bits of antler all the time when we were kids…That was really dangerous, now that I think about it.”

“I would create snowmen for me and Anna to play with. That was fun.” Elsa decides not to talk about the less fun parts of her ice powers. Another day, perhaps.

“I bet you were so cute as a kid. What were you like?”

Elsa gives a short contemplative hum in reply before falling silent.

“You don’t have to say, if you don’t want to,” Honeymaren says, softly.

“No, no, it’s alright, I was just thinking. I was… quiet, obedient. A lot more withdrawn than I am now. I was the next in line to the throne so I always felt like I had to be the perfect child.” Elsa fiddles with the fabric of her dress and watches as swirls of frost ingrain themselves into the fibres. “Anna made it easier, she tried a lot to make me smile.”

Honeymaren’s fingers stop moving for a moment. Elsa tilts her head back slightly as a reminder, and the plaiting restarts. Honeymaren’s tone is gentle and almost apologetic. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, it sounds hard. I’m glad you had her though.”

“Me too. She’s saved me so many times, more than I can count.” There are so many sad parts to Elsa’s childhood and she doesn’t want to dwell on them for too long right now. She doesn’t want to hold any secrets from Honeymaren but there’s a time and a place for everything, and they’ll both need to head off soon anyway. “Were you close with Ryder when you were kids?” Elsa asks.

“Well, mixed bag. I was a little terror to him when we were younger but I grew out of that, thank the spirits. He’s a sweet boy but I think he was scared of me for a lot of our childhood. Perhaps rightly so,” she adds, chuckling.

Elsa cocks an eyebrow. Honeymaren can’t see her face at the moment but she hopes it comes across in her tone. “I can’t imagine you being scary.”

“You haven’t seen me when wolves try to mess with my reindeer.”

“I suppose I haven’t. Maybe that’s for the best, though.”

“Probably.” Honeymaren produces a thin worn band of leather from her pockets and uses it to tie off the plait she’s been working on. “Speaking of reindeer though, I better get back to my herd.”

Elsa turns around and watches her stand and stretch. “Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course,” is the immediate reply, and then a pause. “You look lovely. I’ll see you soon.” Honeymaren says, after studying Elsa for a moment.

Elsa wonders what Honeymaren’s hair, neat and straight and tied back in a sensible plait, would look like down. She wonders how it would frame her pretty face. She wonders if Honeymaren ever gets hat hair. She wonders what she would look first thing in the morning, scruffy and messy. She wonders if Honeymaren would let her run her fingers through her dark hair if she asked and without thinking knows the answer is yes.

As Honeymaren turns to leave, Elsa can’t resist making one last comment. “Oh, and one last thing?”

“Yes?”

“I think you have lovely hair too, for the record.”

After a few days, the plait comes loose and Elsa keeps the band wrapped round her wrist for safekeeping. Honeymaren never asks for it back.


	5. clothing

“Anna’s coming to visit today!” Elsa tells Bruni excitedly, as he dances across her fingers. He seems happy to hear that, although he’s happy whenever he gets a chance to play with Elsa. She watches him weave in and out of her fingers and interprets the wiggling of his tail as permission to elaborate.

“I haven’t seen her for a few weeks, she’s been busy,” she explains to the salamander, who, to his credit, looks up at Elsa every few words to show he’s listening. “It’s not an official visit this time, that’s what she said in her last letter. I think she just wants a break from all the monarchy responsibility.” She smiles wryly and remembers the endless paperwork and monotonous meetings and even duller bureaucracy. She does not envy her sister one bit.

“It’s just a day visit,” Elsa continues. “She’s got her birthday celebration ball coming up soon, so I’ll catch up with her properly then. I normally go a few days earlier to help out with the decorations; you’d think that being the almighty bridge between humans and magic would mean she’d be a little more hesitant to ask me to make forty miniature ice sculpture centrepieces but apparently not! Not that I mind, of course, but still. I wish you could come to the ball Bruni, you’d look adorable in a little jacket. I wonder if my powers can –”

She hears a crunch of leaves behind a nearby tree and pauses in her monologuing at Bruni. Peering over her shoulder to pinpoint the source of the noise, Elsa stares patiently at the offending tree. She knows it’s nothing too dangerous, otherwise Bruni would have alerted her much earlier, rather than nuzzling her palms affectionately like he currently is.

Honeymaren pops out from behind the tree.

“Sorry, sorry!” she says sheepishly. “I wasn’t trying to lurk, I promise. I didn’t want to disturb your riveting talk… with the salamander,” she adds slyly.

Elsa’s eyes twinkle. “Is that how you refer to the spirits of the Enchanted Forest?”

“I would never disrespect the Fire Spirit like that!” Honeymaren exclaims, with a look of mock outrage. “The Fifth Spirit though,” Honeymaren says with a playful smile, “I hear she looks very cute when you tease her.”

As if on cue, Elsa blushes slightly. Honeymaren pauses for a second, losing her train of thought briefly, before remembering her purpose of finding Elsa in the first place.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, your sister has arrived!”

Elsa’s smile grows in response and she gives Bruni a goodbye stroke on the head before gently dropping him onto the forest floor, watching him cheerfully scuttle away. She falls into step with Honeymaren, heading towards the Northuldran Encampment.

“You know,” Honeymaren starts, “I could probably make Bruni a little jacket if you wanted –”

“Oh, shush. I think I preferred it when you were intimidated by me,” Elsa chides gently, still smiling.

“I was never intimidated by you,” is the reply. “I’m just more polite to strangers, especially if they’re cute.”

Elsa blushes.

“Elsa!”

She feels the tight grip of her sister’s arms around her before she actually sees her, but instinctively returns the hug with a matched intensity. She buries her face into Anna’s hair and breathes her in. There’s a familiar, nostalgic scent, sweet and floral, the standard royal soap scent that the servants at Arendelle Castle always bought for them when they were girls. Elsa hopes she isn’t using the soap to wash her hair, it’s terribly damaging. She makes a mental note to ask Anna later. As Bruni was told, it had only been a few weeks since the pair had last seen each other in person, but after years of living a corridor away from one another, as well as a smattering of traumatic experiences, a few weeks felt like an incredibly long time.

“How was the journey over?” Elsa asks, still hugging her sister.

“All good! Especially with the new path in place.” She’s talking about the new route that she had arranged to be constructed not long after her coronation. The path connects Arendelle and the Enchanted Forest much more directly, making the journey between the two far quicker and less treacherous.

They eventually break apart and Elsa’s eyes comb over her sister’s appearance, trying to spot any minute changes. She looks largely the same, freckled and ginger and beaming. The bags under her eyes are a touch more prominent than before.

“Have you been sleeping?” Elsa asks, fretting. “I know you’ve been busy recently but your advisors and ladies-in-waiting exist for a reason, Anna, and wearing yourself thin won’t help anyone.”

Anna grabs her sister’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Elsa, I’m fine. Trust me, Kristoff wouldn’t let me run myself ragged even if I wanted to.”

Elsa breathes a sigh of relief. Kristoff’s a good man.

“Where is he, speaking of? Where’s Olaf?”

“Oh, they’re back at the castle, holding down the fort for me. Lifesavers, the both of them. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about Arendelle!” Anna says cheerfully. “Would you believe it, I still haven’t been on an unofficial tour of the encampment! I’m sure there’s loads of cool stuff we skip over when we do the official state visits.”

“I can give you a tour,” Honeymaren offers, still standing behind Elsa.

Anna’s smile, if possible, grows even bigger. “I’d love one!” 

With one hand gripped tightly around Elsa’s, Anna pulls her older sister beside her as she trots excitedly behind Honeymaren, asking questions at every opportunity.

“… and finally, this is where I normally come to have some time by myself, or just some peace and quiet.” They’re in a clearing, close to the Encampment but just hidden out of sight. “I’ve been coming here a lot recently, to work on–” Honeymaren catches herself mid-word, glancing at Anna.

“To work on…?” Elsa prompts, watching the uncharacteristically tongue-tied woman try to backtrack.

“…To work on your birthday present,” she finishes, addressing Anna.

Elsa watches with amusement as her sister’s eyes immediately light up then settle into a pleading expression.

“It’s faster for everyone if you just show her,” Elsa advises Honeymaren. “She won’t stop begging you, I’ve learned that the hard way.”

Honeymaren laughs and succumbs to the two sisters. “Okay, okay. I might as well, I just finished it the other day. I’m pretty proud of it.” She leaves the clearing for a minute before returning with a parcel wrapped in paper.

As she sits, the two sisters take a seat either side of her, peering curiously at the gift. She unfolds the paper to reveal a pair of soft leather gloves, light brown and matte, with a metallic thread embroidered onto the backs of each hand, in a distinctive snowflake pattern. The silver thread is both delicate and sturdy, sparkling when it catches the light at the right angle. The leather looks buttery soft and seems to have been tailored to Anna’s exact measurements, precision and care demonstrated in every join. They’re beautiful.

“The thread is made from spun pewter,” Honeymaren explains, gently placing the gloves in Anna’s hands, “and the button on the clasp is carved from antler tips.”

“The pattern…” Anna murmurs, thumb gliding over the pewter thread.

“…Our mother’s scarf,” Elsa finishes for her, and Honeymaren nods in response.

“It’s a symbol of Northuldran culture as well as being particularly important to both of you. I thought the pattern would remind you that although Arendelle is your home, you’re connected to the Northuldra, and you’ll always have a place here with us.”

Anna’s eyes mist over and she envelops Honeymaren in a tight hug. Elsa watches the two of them, feeling her heart well up with warm affection for both women, love coursing through her veins.

When it’s time for Anna to leave and head back to Arendelle, she hands the gloves back to Honeymaren, who rewraps them in paper and hides them away in her hut again.

“You don’t want to show up to the ball empty-handed!” Anna says with a wink.

“I’ll see if I can find some fancier paper to wrap them in,” Honeymaren laughs in response.

Elsa accompanies Anna to the edge of the Enchanted Forest, partially as her official duty as the guardian of the forest, but mainly because she wants to spend more time with her sister. The horse Anna rode in on walks behind them, occasionally pausing to sniff at any particularly interesting patches of grass.

“So, Honeymaren,” Anna says slyly, “she seems nice.”

Elsa smiles, absent-mindedly rubbing the worn leather band on her wrist, and thinks of capable hands buried in reindeer fur, easy conversations, and a warm low voice, quietly singing a lullaby. “She is. She’s amazing.”

Anna’s eyes go wide at the soft expression on Elsa’s face. “You like her! I knew it!”

Elsa shrugs in response; it’s not like she can deny it. Anna squeals in delight.

“You should go for it! I think she really likes you, you know. She has this dreamy look in her eyes whenever she looks at you, it’s pretty obvious.”

Elsa stays quiet but raises a sceptical eyebrow.

“I’ve learnt a lot about love since I was a teenager! I’m right, just trust me. She likes you. And I’d love to have her as a sister-in-law –”

She’s cut off by Elsa spluttering, and giggles at her sister’s embarrassment. Since Ahtohallan, Elsa has felt more confident and self-assured than she’s ever been, which means it delights Anna all the more to see her so flustered. Anna spares her for today and thankfully changes the subject. Elsa has never been more grateful to her sister than she is in this moment.

They make it to the edge of the Enchanted Forest and the sisters tightly hug goodbye. Elsa once again breathes in the familiar floral scent of her sister’s hair, hands brushing against the soft fabric of her cape.

She watches as her little sister rides off back to Arendelle, already happily counting down the days to when she will see her next. Turning to head back into the forest when Anna and her horse are finally out of view, Elsa thinks for a moment, then tuts to herself. She forgot to ask Anna about the soap.


	6. eyes

Anna: warm blue. Sunny skies, kingfishers diving into water, feet dipping into the sea during the heat of summer.

Olaf: black. Starlings singing in the garden, charcoal pencils, jars of salty liquorice sweets.

Her mother: blueish grey. Silver jewellery, faded book covers, clouds reflected onto still water.

Her father: light green. Rose buds, picking gooseberries to make jam, morning dew on grass.

Kristoff: medium brown. Baked cinnamon cookies, log cutting on a bright day, varnished wood.

Honeymaren: dark, dark brown. Reindeer hooves, freshly brewed black coffee, early hours in the morning after the campfire finally blows out.


	7. skin

It’s a lovely day, bright and blue and one of the warmest days they’ve had all year.

Ryder and Honeymaren haven’t finished their work for the day yet, but they’re taking a break after a tiring morning. They still aren’t quite used to seeing clear sky above them; whenever the weather is fair, the pair will indulge their need to catch up on all the time missed relaxing under a vast blue sky. Ryder sits near the river at the edge of the meadow, whittling away at a piece of wood tucked into his pocket, occasionally stopping to admire his progress. Honeymaren is currently lying in a thick patch of grass, hat tossed to one side, soaking in the sun while it lasts. Elsa sits beside her, reading a book that she bought a few days ago from a quaint bookshop in Arendelle, nestled between Anna’s favourite bakery and a temporary studio for a renowned landscape painter.

Elsa had never taken to wandering round the local Arendellian streets like her sister had, so when Anna had asked if she wanted to join her on a walk to buy one or two cardamom buns, Elsa had walked around almost with the air of a tourist. She had gone wherever was required for royal duties of course, but had tended to spend what little free time she had within the castle or its gardens. She had often overworked herself during her brief reign as queen, feeling too guilty about all the trouble she had brought upon Arendelle to let herself relax for too long. The two of them were always recognised immediately whenever they walked around Arendelle, with locals calling out cheerful greetings to their queen and more subdued, polite greetings to Elsa. Anna had led the way eagerly and as they neared the bakery, seemed to be led by her nose, rather than her feet. As they had passed the bookshop, Elsa had seen a dark blue cover, with the title _All That is Left of Us_ in gold lettering in the window, and as Anna decided between which freshly baked goods she also had to get, Elsa had slipped into the bookshop, money already in hand. As she had exited, her bag one book heavier, Anna had also been leaving the bakery with a basket bursting with cardamom buns, butter cookies, and many slices of almond cake.

“Whose basket is that?”

“The baker’s! She lets me borrow it whenever I buy too much. I’m one of her favourite customers, you know.”

“I think I can tell,” Elsa had replied wryly.

Honeymaren stretches, sits up, then peers over at Elsa, glancing over the title of the book she’s reading.

“What are you reading?”

Else contemplates the question as she carefully lays the book beside her, conscious of keeping it clean. “It’s about a series of letters between two queens, although it’s quite hard to describe. I can lend it to you after I finish it, if you want.”

“I’d like that. What kind of books do you normally like reading?”

“Oh, all sorts. Mysteries, poetry, memoirs.”

“Not interested in romantic stories?” Honeymaren asks carefully.

Elsa’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Not especially. Anna would sometimes tell me about the latest one she was reading, but I always used to hate the way people fell in love in fairy tales and stories,” she admits. “So unrealistic! It always seemed so sudden, so dramatic. Like, bam! Now you’re in love. It’s even worse when characters have this big revelation, like they didn’t even realise they were in love before.”

Honeymaren nods understandingly. “I agree with you there. I always preferred to think of it like duodji.”

“Duodji?”

“It’s our name for Northuldran handicraft. Clothes, knives, cups, bags, that sort of thing. Duodji items, they’re made to last. They’re meant to be functional, to be used in everyday life. When you’re moving around with your reindeer, there’s no room for unnecessary things.

“The thing is, they’re also made to be beautiful. You know the chest of drawers next to my bed?”

Elsa thinks back to the small red chest in Honeymaren’s hut, decorated with blue, white, and yellow paint, with hinges that squeak just slightly when the chest is opened. It’s well-loved, a number of nicks and scratches run along the side from regular use and being regularly knocked into by Ryder every time he enters her hut. The items stored inside the chest are organised carefully, neat stacks of clothes and tools and blankets.

“Both sturdy and pretty,” Elsa recalls, nodding.

Honeymaren smiles. “Exactly. It’s about linking function and art, style and substance.” She glances over to her brother on the other side of the meadow, still engrossed in carving the piece of mood. He’s made noticeable progress and even from some distance Elsa can recognise the distinct shape of a spoon being carved.

“That’s how I’ve always viewed love as well. Taking time and care to create something beautiful but also reliable. Something that won’t always be breathtaking but will always be there at the end of the day, and, through years of use and memories and care, will become something breathtaking in its own right. Love not found in the adventure, but on the path back home. Those are my favourite kind of love stories.”

Her hand rests next to Elsa’s, close enough together that it doesn’t take Elsa much effort at all to gently intertwine their fingers together. Honeymaren’s palm is calloused from years of reindeer herding, warm and steady like everything about her. Her nimble fingers, capable of sewing beautiful delicate pewter thread, curl around Elsa’s without hesitation. Honeymaren bows her head and presses a soft kiss against Elsa’s shoulder, then raises her head to look at her, dark eyes filled with patience and adoration.

“That’s a beautiful way of thinking about love,” Elsa says, before leaning in to meet Honeymaren’s lips.

The kiss is brief, a chaste press of lips more than anything else, but when they part, Elsa is blushing and Honeymaren’s eyes sparkle. Elsa doesn’t tell her that that was her first kiss. She thinks about Anna years ago, small and starry-eyed, talking about the exhilarating, heart-stopping, curse-breaking magic of a first kiss and ponders the kiss she just experienced. It was… none of those things. No fireworks or sparks, but simply a soft, soothing warmth of skin pressed against hers. The air, rather than alight with the crackle of electricity, smells faintly of reindeer. But it’s Honeymaren’s lips, and Honeymaren’s warmth, and the scent of reindeer lingering on Honeymaren’s clothes so it’s all wonderful.

“Can we do that again?” Honeymaren asks with a shameless smile.

Elsa laughs and kisses her once more. It’s careful and sweet and patient, two women who are in no rush. Elsa thinks she could get used to this. Rather, she wants to get used to this. She wants to kiss Honeymaren on sunny forest walks, over glowing embers after late night conversations, before they leave to fulfil their daily duties. She wants kissing Honeymaren to become something ordinary and routine and habitual. She wants to see how beautiful Honeymaren’s way of thinking about love can be.

They part, almost lazily. Elsa glances over Honeymaren’s shoulder to spot Ryder standing up and pocketing the spoon, now with an elegant swirling pattern embellishing the handle. He stretches, then looks over at the two women, giving a friendly wave to Elsa as he catches her eye.

“I think your break has finished,” Elsa says matter-of-factly, giving a friendly wave back.

Honeymaren turns around to look at her brother and groans. “Ugh. Okay, okay, back to work.” She uses one hand to grab her hat and deftly fix it back on her head in one swift motion, reluctant to untangle her hand from Elsa’s. Giving a final squeeze of her hand, she slides her fingers out of Elsa’s grip and stands, brushing off any stray blades of grass. Before heading off to join her brother, Honeymaren looks at Elsa, who in turn is watching her back carefully. Honeymaren’s tan skin seems to have absorbed all the sun she was soaking in and she shines, bright and beautiful and resplendent.

“When will I next see you?” Honeymaren asks, not even trying to hide the large grin she sports.

“This evening or tomorrow. I’ll see how busy I am this afternoon.” Elsa’s tone is casual but she wears a matching smile.

Honeymaren nods in response and leans in to press a feather-light peck on Elsa’s cheek, before walking over to rejoin her brother. The pair are far enough away that Elsa can’t hear their conversation, but watches in amusement as Ryder appears to ask an innocuous question before being gently swatted by Honeymaren as the siblings break into playful bickering.

She waits a few minutes, head tilted back to bask in the sun, until she can no longer hear any footsteps or squabbling. Then, she shoots an icy firework into the air with a breathless laugh, then another, then another, until the whole clearing is glittering with floating ice crystals and rainbow light is refracted onto the grass, bright and sparkling.

Elsa admires the scene for a moment, before picking up her book and leaving the clearing, ready to see what the rest of her forest has in store for her.

She laughs over parlour games with Anna and Kristoff and Olaf, wanders through the markets of Arendelle, greets the spirits as she rides with the Nokk, holds Honeymaren’s hand as she sings along with the chorus of Northuldran voices. She feels happier and luckier than she ever thought possible in her childhood.

Long gone are the dark corners of her room, black carpet frozen over with ice. Long gone are the white snowy plains, cold and unforgiving. These days, her home is full of colour, brown and blue and pink and orange, and she feels full of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. i hope you're safe and happy wherever you are, or at the very least, on your way there.


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